


The Consulting Demon

by remanth



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Possession, Superwholock, TARDIS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange man in a blue box comes to visit Sam and Dean. He needs their help with a friend of his, Sherlock Holmes, in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consulting Demon

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean asked, staring at the blue wooden box that had materialized in Bobby's kitchen.

"I don't know," Sam said thoughtfully, memories of an old TV show stirring in the depths of his mind.

"No, seriously, what the hell?" Dean repeated, his voice rising in anger.

"I think... I think that's the Doctor's phone box," Sam replied, awe threading through his voice.

"The who's what now?" Dean asked, staring at Sam as if he had grown a second head.

"The Doctor," Sam repeated. "You know, that old British sci-fi show I used to watch as a kid? That's his spaceship." Dean glared at his younger brother, disbelief rippling through him.

"Seriously, you geek?" Dean snorted. "A spaceship? What is he, an alien?" They both turned as the door opened and a tall man with shaggy brown hair stepped out. He was wearing a gray, pinstriped suit, red converse sneakers, and a long brown coat.

"I am, yes," the man said, nodding. "I'm the Doctor. Would you be Sam and Dean Winchester?" A huge grin spread across Sam's face. He'd never admit it to Dean, but he'd continued watching Doctor Who when it was renewed a few years ago. He recognized this man as the Tenth incarnation of the Doctor.

"We are," Dean replied cautiously when Sam just stood there grinning like an idiot. "Why?"

"I have a friend in London who could use your expertise," the Doctor explained, moving up to shake Dean's hand vigorously. "So if you'd kindly hurry up and get in the TARDIS?" Sam nodded eagerly to Dean's disgust and started moving towards the blue box.

"Hang on a minute," Dean snapped, pulling his hand out of the Doctor's grasp. "Sammy, stop. What kind of expertise are you talking about?"

"Oh, that's right," the Doctor said, shaking his head and giving Dean a wry smile. "You don't know me yet. But you will." He turned to Sam and gave the younger Winchester a bright smile which Sam returned. The Doctor turned away from Dean and walked into the TARDIS, holding the door open for both of them.

"Well, allons-y," he said, smiling wider. Dean shook his head as Sam bounded into the TARDIS and squealed like a friggin' girl. He followed, fully expecting to be jammed against his brother and the strange guy. As he walked inside, Dean's mouth dropped open and he stared about in awe.

"It's... it's bigger on the inside," Dean said, stunned. Sam laughed and the Doctor clapped him on the shoulder.

"Time Lord science, my friend," the Doctor said before bounding to the round center console. He threw a few switches and turned some gears and the TARDIS started to shake. Dean threw out a hand and gripped a column while Sam stood next to the Doctor, staring down at the levers, buttons, and switches with unrestrained glee on his face.

They bumped and slid through space as the TARDIS headed back to London. Dean wasn't sure whether he was afraid or not. This was a little like flying but so completely different. Before he'd settled on it, the TARDIS stopped moving and silence reigned. The Doctor darted towards the entrance, Sam trailing him like a faithful puppy. Groaning, Dean followed and his jaw dropped open as he took in the room they were standing in.

It definitely wasn't the kitchen in Bobby's house. The room was cluttered with books and papers and a cow skull hung on the wall. Another skull sat on the mantle and Dean could tell it was human. Two men were in the room, the taller gray-haired man pacing impatiently while the shorter blond man sat quietly in a red armchair.

"This the hunters you were talking about?" the blond man asked, eyeing Sam and Dean.

"Yes they are," the Doctor replied happily. "Sam and Dean Winchester meet Dr. John Watson and DI Greg Lestrade."

"DI?" Dean repeated, confused. "What does DI mean?"

"Detective Inspector," Lestrade answered him. "Means I'm a police officer."

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered to himself. He turned to the Doctor and said, "You know Sammy and I don't have the best relationship with the police."

"It doesn't matter right now," the Doctor said. "Greg there isn't going to arrest you and what they are accusing you of isn't true." Lestrade turned confused eyes on Dean and Sam, his cop's instincts yelling at him.

"Besides, they need your help," the Doctor continued. John nodded and shot a warning look at Lestrade. The older man shrugged and turned away while John waved the Winchesters to the couch. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before facing them.

"First off, you should know this is about my flatmate," John said. "A couple weeks ago, I came home early from the clinic and he was sitting staring at the skull. This isn't an unusual occurrence so I just wrote it off. I even ignored it when he talked to the skull. But when the weird cup thing showed up and he filled it with blood, that caused me to take notice. Once, late at night, I swore I heard whispering coming from it."

John paused and ran a hand through his hair. Even though the Doctor had reassured him that these boys could be trusted, he still felt weird talking about this. He still didn't quite believe it himself. He missed the look the Winchesters shared but Lestrade didn't.

"You have an idea already what this means," the DI said suddenly.

"Possibly," Sam grimaced. "But it sounds like there might be more to the story. Why don't you continue Dr. Watson?"

"John, you can call me John," John said. "Greg came to us a week later, wanting Sherlock to consult on a case. Three people had had their throats slit and were drained of blood. They had no connection and were left in different places. It worried me a little when Sherlock showed no interest in the case. This was something that would have him jumping about like a boy on Christmas day."

"So I decided to leave Sherlock to whatever snit he was currently in," Lestrade broke in, taking up the story. "And tried to solve the case on my own. Forensics determined the blade was a small one, double-sided, straight, and non-serrated. The image of it they came up with strongly reminded me of the blade that sits on the mantle over there, holding down letters."

Sam and Dean both looked up at the knife and Dean stood to examine it. He plucked it out of the wood and studied every inch of the blade. He found a few flecks of dried blood near the hilt. He turned it towards John and showed him the blood.

"He use this for anything other than holding down mail?" Dean asked. John shook his head while Lestrade let out a breath on a hiss.

"I don't want to see that," the DI said. "I can't see that." Dean nodded and stabbed the knife back into the mantle. He moved to sit back down next to Sam, worrying about who or what they might be facing here.

"Go on with your story," Sam said in a gentle voice.

"Sherlock started going out at all hours of the day and night," John continued. "When I asked him about it, about why he wasn't taking me along on his cases, he deflected it. He wouldn't tell me a thing about what he was doing. He grew nastier to people, moreso than usual. But there were two things that finally convinced me something was really wrong."

John paused again and scrubbed a hand over his face. He found this to be one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. Thinking that Sherlock wasn't himself anymore was terrifying.

"What were those two things?" Sam asked, his puppy dog eyes filled with concern.

"A couple days ago, I saw his eyes," John said sadly. "Sherlock has these gorgeous silvery blue eyes. But when I saw him, he was hovering over that cup and they were black. Totally and completely black. But that wasn't what finally convinced me. I told myself I was imagining things, that it was just dark in here. But when he kissed me yesterday, it wasn't him. We've been together for almost a year now and I know how he kisses. Something has taken his place and probably committed the murders Greg has been investigating."

"Why didn't you tell me you guys got together?" Lestrade asked, interrupting again.

"What? And let Sherlock be the butt of more jokes from Donovan and Anderson?" John scoffed.

"I wouldn't have told them," Lestrade argued. He actually looked a little hurt about it and Sam and Dean waited while John apologized.

"All right, so we are pretty sure we know what you're dealing with," Sam said, glancing over at Dean.

"Good, good," the Doctor said exuberantly, rubbing his hands together. "that means that my work here is done. See you guys later." He hopped back into the TARDIS, ignoring Dean's shouts.

"But how are we supposed to get home?" Dean yelled as the wooden box disappeared. "We don't even have passports!"

"He'll come back when he needs to," John said. "It's how the Doctor works." Sam nodded, agreeing with him. That's how it went in the show as well. The Doctor might not always go where he wanted but the TARDIS always took him where he was needed.

"So where is this Sherlock now?" Sam asked, getting the conversation back on track.

"He's out getting takeaway for us," John replied. "I had to find some reason for him to be gone when you guys showed up." Footsteps sounded on the stairway and John jumped.

"Guess he's back," Lestrade said dryly. "Good timing."

"Not really," Dean disagreed. "We didn't have enough time to set everything up. We could really have used a devil's trap, some holy water, and some salt."

"I think the Doctor drew something on the floor under the rug," John said slowly, lifting up the edge of the rug. A devil's trap was drawn in red spray paint and Dean grinned. Lestrade pointed to a duffel bag sitting by the desk and Sam opened it to find bottles of holy water, containers of salt, and Ruby's knife.

"I was wondering where that went," Sam remarked, showing the knife to Dean. He slipped it into his jeans as the door opened and Sherlock walked in. He looked around, the Winchesters seeing how he feigned curiousity, then walked into the kitchen.

"I don't understand why I had to get the takeaway, John," Sherlock's baritone voice came from the kitchen. "But if you wanted to meet with friends, you could have told me." John said nothing until Sherlock walked back out. He grabbed the detective and kissed him, walking backwards with him. Sam and Dean looked away, a bit embarrassed. Their eyes snapped back when they heard a yell and John's muffled groan from the other side of the room.

"You trapped me!?" Sherlock screamed, his eyes flashing to black. "How dare you! How could you have known?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Dean said, grabbing a bottle of holy water. "What matters right now if what you're doing here."

"Why, Dean, how nice to see you here," Sherlock's voice said, completely dropping the pretense of not knowing who the boys were. "I was wondering if you'd come over here."

"Who are you?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"I'm hurt, Sam," Sherlock pouted. "After all the time we spent together. I was even inside you for a time."

"Meg?" Sam growled, glaring at Sherlock. He took Ruby's knife back out, prepared to stab the demon and kill it.

"Who's Meg?" John asked, helped to his feet by Lestrade. They were both staring wide-eyed at the tableau in front of them.

"Meg is a demon we can't get rid of," Dean replied. "She's kind of like a cockroach. You try to kill her, she escapes, then comes back to bite you in the ass."

"I'm not going anywhere near your ass, Dean," Meg drawled. "Now, Sam's on the other hand, I'd be all over that. Oh, wait, I was." Sam growled again at her, anger suffusing her face. He lifted the knife and stepped forward but was stopped by John. The shorter man was surprisingly strong and he held Sam back.

"Don't," John said. "If you use that, you'll kill him. I don't want to lose Sherlock."

"Awww, you poor baby," Meg cooed at John. "I can hear him in here, you know. He's screaming at you to run. He wants you all safe." Sherlock's warm laugh echoed through the flat as John glared at him. He eased his hold on Sam's arm when he was sure the hunter wasn't going to charge in.

"Meg, you know I can torture the information out of you," Dean said quietly. "And you know I would get what I wanted. We both trained under Alastair. So just tell me what you're doing here." He ignored the startled gasps behind him. He wasn't about to explain Hell to the two confused men behind him.

"I was hoping to get a chance to kill you two," Meg said, moving to sit in Sherlock's armchair. "And here you are. Though the trap wasn't part of the plan."

"Yeah, too bad for you," Sam sneered. He looked over at Dean and raised an eyebrow. Dean nodded, ready to exorcise Meg. Sam started the prayer to get rid of the demon while Dean splashed Sherlock's body with holy water. John made a shocked noise deep in his throat as he looked on. He hadn't expected the burning to happen.

As Sam came to the closing of the chant, he paused as Meg started laughing again. The demon ignored the pain of the holy water and grinned at the Winchesters.

"I'll see you again, boys," she promised and Sam finished the last few words. Sherlock's mouth opened wide and oily black smoke poured out of it. The smoke disappeared downwards and Sherlock slumped into the chair. John darted forward, checking the taller man's pulse.

Dean turned away to look at Lestrade. The DI had a shocked look on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"I didn't see this," the DI repeated. "And those bodies are going to become a cold case. I hate that fact, but it obviously wasn't Sherlock who killed them. And my superiors are not going to accept an exorcised demon as the murderer."

"That's probably best," Dean nodded. "See why we have issues with the police? Some of what we hunt still looks human after they're dead." He turned back to John and Sherlock in time to see the men smile at each other and envelope each other in a warm hug. The same sound he and Sam had heard in Bobby's house came back and the Doctor popped his head out of the TARDIS.

"You're back, then Sherlock?" the Doctor asked brightly. The detective nodded at him, still hugging John close. "That's wonderful. But it's time for the Winchesters to head home."

"I'm glad we were able to help," Sam said, nodding at Sherlock and John. "If you need our help again, let us know." Sam scribbled down his cellphone number on a piece of paper and handed it to John. Sherlock pulled out a business card and handed it to Sam.

"And if you ever need a detective," Sherlock said. "Call me. It's the least I can do since you got that thing out of me." Dean waved, tired of the chick flick goodbye and walked into the TARDIS. Sam smiled and said goodbye to everyone in the room. He walked into the TARDIS as well, another grin lighting his face.

"I'm never going to get tired of this," Sam said, turning to Dean. "I mean, having an angel taxi is awesome but all of time and space? How do you beat that?"

"I just want to go home," Dean said sourly, his fear of flying rising again. The Doctor set the ship in motion and Dean closed his eyes until they stopped again. The Winchesters walked out of the TARDIS and the Doctor popped his head out to grace them with one more smile.

"Until we meet again, my friends," the Doctor said before closing the door and the blue box disappeared.

"I don't think I want to know what we help him with," Dean muttered. He went upstairs to get some sleep, wondering if this was all just a dream. Sam just grinned at him and sat down with his laptop. He had a few more Doctor Who episodes to catch up on.


End file.
